


try one more time, a hundred times; all i remember is your face

by xyn



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Angst, Gen, so much angst rip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 10:59:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10718058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xyn/pseuds/xyn
Summary: she is an illusionand takumi is aware.





	try one more time, a hundred times; all i remember is your face

**Author's Note:**

> listen to donut hole by gumi to feel the mood

And yet you yourself, I'm not sure why  
\-------------------------------------------------------------  
He does not recall. The gossamer wintry white locks nor the dulcet, crimson fawn like eyes that follows his moving body, pleading, yearning and mournful. Weak he was yet weak she was too. 

The bitter, bitter taste of betrayal heavies his delicate, human tongue and from it conjures a twisted and half craze wickedness that is nurtured within the Hoshidan prince’s turbulent mind. 

Who is she? Who is this so called princess of Hoshido and the fabled older sibling that has been missing for most of his life? She was an illusion. A sick image illustrated by the damned gods to spit and sneer upon the Hoshidan prince and his family.

He is not naive.

Not anymore.

The so called princess; his sister was nothing but a fragment of his imagination. The prince was sure of it. She was surreal. She was a deception. Nohr mages had only created this image of her to tease and jeer at his family’s mind and shatter their fragile hearts into a million pieces of glass. 

Yet the hazy scene of a bell like giggle tickles the back of the archer’s mind. It was fleeting. It was ephemeral. It allowed him to catch a glimpse of a small child; weirdly pointed ears and large, exotic ruby glossed orbs, cloud like curls gently taper around her apple like cheeks; bouncing and soft. It alludes to a halo around a cherubic, pulchritudinous child. In her hands was linked to another pair of smaller, chubby hands. This child was smaller, its golden amber eyes darkened and reddened by large fat tears that threaten to rain down, their thick silvery lashes was cast downwards in immature sadness, lips pouted in an overly exaggerated fashion and unruly, downy like grey hair was pinned into a stubby ponytail. The snowy haired child brought the small sibling’s hands to their lips and the smaller sibling erupted into fits of giggles, honey golden orbs brightened in joy considerably and their tears were forgotten.

A lie.  
A myth.  
A facade. 

The image as fading as it was was swept away in a flurry of disgust and pure antagonism. The prince’s breath was haggard with chaos and his lungs seemingly constricted of air, the man stumbled, resolve shattering, amber brown eyes widened ludicrously, and his gloved hand roughly clenches against his head. 

She interferes with his reality.  
(she must be ridden) 

She killed their mother  
(she will pay with her life)

She sided with Nohr  
(she is a traitor)

He would not let this happen. Not again.

Fake, fake, fake. 

She is the epitome of his blinding fury and wrath.

Emotions cannot control him now. Long ago he had vowed to seal them away, to be buried along with his empty heart; to finally succumb to emptiness and to rid of his weakness. These memories; were nothing but illusions, they were weakening of his character, the never ending emotional drain of weary souls and long lost purity. (he must keep strong; even as the child in his heart wails in pain) 

He is not weak (he keeps telling himself, a mantra that he forces himself to believe)

He will prevail (and murder and kill and murder and kill and murder and kill, )

He will save his family (Sakura, Hinoka, Ryouma, Sakura, Hinoka, Ryouma, Corrin, Corrin, Corrin)

And in his hands, the divinely weapon blazed ferociously; reflecting the inner turmoil of rage and anger that has been pent up within the archer’s mind. A guttural growl, too animistic to be human rumbles deep within the malicious caverns of the prince’s chest. The hate, only festers and brims to the crown of the prince’s head and the toe tip as he rests his eyes upon the traitor. 

“Takumi…”

“DO NOT SAY MY NAME!”

The dragon princess was broken, torn. Her voice wavered, it cried out to him. The scream that was cracked from his throat whipped her as the tone of the prince’s held overflowing anger and disdain. Rivulets of clear liquid came like an infinite waterfall cascading down her cheeks to only pour like the grieving rain down to the ground. 

From his fingertips the prince conjures a glowing arrow. It was as if he was breathing, the movement came as easily as blinking, a second nature to him. He was born and raised to kill and fight for his people, his country of Hoshido. The divine weapon he wields only listens to his commands as he seeks to pinpoint the hearts of his foes.

She doesn’t move. Her ruby gaze only stares on as the arrow points directly to her beating heart.  
The woman before him was fabricated. Woven from the blood of his mother that sacrificed herself and the ruthlessness of her actions. She was a harbinger of sorrow and grief. The pinnacle of every bad luck that had happened to his family and him.

His sister was dead a very long time ago in his heart.

The arrow flies, free from the tightening latch of the prince’s fingers which restricts the freedom and buries itself into his target.

The woman cries out; the crimson liquid wildly stained the front of her cloak and the silvery armour she wore. 

She was another deer in the forest. And he was another hunter. That would always be the separation between the two creatures.

The bow drops. A dull clang came as the Fujin Yumi’s light flicker out, the weapon lies lifelessly on the gravel. The prince does not why. 

Her knees bend and she collapses onto the cold, cold concrete. 

Ah, the last thing that the dragon princess would feel would be the rubble and dirt before death takes her soul, a fitting way to die as a traitor. But no sneer plays from the Hoshidan prince’s lips.

The Nohr princess’s body twitches, her gloves soaked with the overflowing life that the gaping hole in her chest profusely bleeds out. Despite her ebbing strength and her inevitable death from her younger brother, her lips manages a smile, pale cheeks pressed against the cold earth which intermingles with her hot tears that couldn’t stop overflowing from sorrowful carmine eyes. She does not care whether her pure snowy white locks are slowly being drenched in her own blood.

Pitifully she twists her neck to look at Takumi. Still, despite his actions she wore her smile. Mournful, tired, anguished. After all he has done, why was she smiling? Whywhywhywhy

Despite the blood that had gurgled in her throat and the hefty pain of her body, the traitor opens her lips. White lashes flicker like wavering candle light in the snowstorm, breathing is starting to take a lot of effort for the princess. She coughs onto the gravel, more of the tainted demon blood splatters onto the ground as she reaches her hand towards the Hoshidan royal.

“Takumi…..I”

Her voice quivers, it was gentle, delicate and is so easily lost within the wind if the prince does not listen carefully and strain his ears.

“I am….sorry….” 

Another pain taken breath.

“I wish...I could have been a better...sister..”

A hiss and a gurgling cough before silence ensues.

The prince buries his face into his gloves, the same hands that had murdered her. Heartbeat accelerating, his breath turns shallower and quickens into a rapid, irregular pace. Freedom...happiness….freedom.

Was it truly?

Her dying words...wishing to be a better siblings. She was fake. Fak-

DeceitfulDeceitfulDeceitfulDeceitfulDeceitfulDeceitfulDeceitful.

A snake hidden amongst a bush of innocent daisies and lilies. She is the dagger of an assassin, the evasive moon of the night. 

But his blood is slowly being frozen within his veins. Coldness and numbness kisses his body agonizing slowLY as the breath pitches from his throat. Logic escapes him, the recollections of his childhood were slowly resurfacing as his sight betrays him.

Where the fake dying body of the traitor sister lies is a body of a small girl with the weird ears, the doleful carmine orbs and the soft, curly ivory mane of hair. Her cheeks are greyer than he had last seen them and yes what a long, long time it was since he last seen the familiar face. 

He must stop. Even in death she still hurts him in every way possible. NONONONO-this is an illusion. She is in your mind. She has possessed you. A strangled cry and his arms tremble violently.

Where is the bravery and bravado you just had, little boy?

Where is the visor when you most need it as your heart buried deep down in your shadows begins to shatter and crack?

He rushes towards her-and now he is the tiny boy with the short legs that couldn’t keep up with Ryouma and Hinoka, the boy who cried when his mochi was eaten. The boy who was afraid of the night and the boy who cried every time he fell over. His sister..sistersistersistersister…

 

His soft, gentle grey hair is tousled into a tiny ponytail, he wears a child’s blue and red yukata now and his steps are smaller, wobblier and full of uncertainty and fear.

The ground is trembling in his every step and his world is collapsing; his mind is playing games and tricks and he cannot stop. He cannot carry on, his child legs does not possess the strength. He doesn’t stop himself as the grief wells up like an overflowing bucket, he is swept away by all the buried emotions and grief that haunts him and will now carry to haunt him.

The prince trips over his own feet and he lands ungracefully next to his snowy haired sister who lay so frightfully still on the hard rubble. His knee was scratched from the fall; bits of grit sticks to the painful throbbing red flesh and the Hoshidan prince he bawls in pain and grief and pain and grief and pain. 

What has he done?

However his sister does not rouse this time therefore the prince latches himself around her cold and frail form, he did not care as the liquid seeped into his own clothing, the crimson bold and striking against his navy shirt. All he cared about was the girl in his arms and her deathly paleness and her limp body. His own body was cold, numb frozen and he greedily savours in the dying warmth of her body. He screams; whether from the pain of the mound of the pain of losing his beloved sister he does not know. The prince’s tears couldn’t stop overflowing as drops after drops fall onto her own tears that had long stopped.

Her scent was chamomile and cinnamon and it brings back hazy memories of his forgotten childhood. The boy sobs into her body, his own body was failing him, cracking beneath the very carefully created mask he wore to protect his fragile heart. Tears served as his shattered insides, his pain he wore so boldly on his heart. His arms wrap tightly around her body as a child would do to their parents; he was still one. A child forced to grow up in a world only for the strong and determined; not for the weak and sensitive. She loved him- she cared, she nurtured him just like Mikoto did. She shared with him her miso soup, her mochi that she stole from the kitchen, her jokes, her games, her hugs, her smiles.

And now; she is gone.

Ryouma’s skill and leadership plagues the Hoshidan prince; Hinoka’s bravery and courage overtakes his. He has nothing, he was nothing. The forgotten prince he would bear the title.

Nobody feels as deeply as him. Nobody cares as deeply as him. Nobody cares about him.

His nose buried into her softly scented curls, the drying blood imprinted on his own hands till he dies.

That forever must be the burden he carries.

\-------------------------------------------------------------  
But I still can't remember you...


End file.
